Page 24 of Shattered In Darkness

I shrug. “You. Us. Everything.”

He turns. For a second, his eyes are pure dark. All the joking is gone.

“Means you’ll remember it,” he says.

I hope so.

Sophie calls from ahead. “Keep up, lovebirds!”

Lucas yells too, but he’s already at the door, pawing at the handle like a raccoon. We duck inside. The house is silent, only the hum of the fridge and the tick of the clock. Everyone else is asleep.

I grab Brody’s wrist before he goes to his room. He stops. Waits. I want to look at him. No point, but I do it anyway.

“Night, Bambi,” he says, his voice softer than it’s ever been.

I could die from it. I think I want to.

I let go. “Night.”

He disappears down the hall and I slip back to my room, collapsing next to Sophie, who’s already out. I lie there, staring at the beams in the ceiling, heart jackhammering.

It could have happened. I could have kissed him, or let him kiss me, or something. But I didn’t.

Next time. Next time, next time, next time.

Long after the weed is gone and the world is gray again, I still feel the heat of his body on my skin. I stare out the window until the stars look like eyes. Watching, always watching. I fall asleep and dream that I’m swimming. Pulled under, but never drowning. Never.

7

BRODY

My father makes it clear to me: be helpful or get lost. Without my father, I might’ve ended up dead in a ditch. In a way, he saved me after mom died.

After I lost Lola.

He found me in my room one night, a gun in my hand, tears sliding down my cheeks. I wanted to blow my brains out. It would have been so easy. But, he stopped me. He said, ‘Son, don’t let grief control you. Bury it. Turn it into something useful. Channel it to get what you want, to feel powerful again.’

That’s the last time he said anything somewhat comforting to me. Not the best advice, but he tried.

That was three years ago. Now, I am doing his dirty work. Covering up his tracks, and mine. I tell myself I hate him, but at the end of the day, I need him. He’s my father. I already lost my mother. How can I lose him too?

What will I have left?

Lola used to be my anchor. Not anymore. Now, he is that person. Despite how much of a monster he can be. We’re both monsters, anyways. That's all I am. It’s all he is. We relate. I have to stay. I have to obey. I have to be a good son. I have to do what he says.

I have to. I have to. I have to.

I think about our conversation earlier, after I finished a job, killing some pathetic piece of shit who begged for his life.

“Why him?” My voice is dead. “Why this company?”

His lip twitches, the closest he’ll get to honest irritation.

“I didn’t train you to ask questions.”

He tries to stare me down. I don’t respond, I just stop moving. Not a muscle flinches.

It’s enough. He peels his gaze away. “Let’s just say they may be involved in your mother’s death coverup.”